


a little death (une petite mort)

by Singofsolace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sex, Rape Recovery, Threesome - F/F/F, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: Mambo Marie intervenes when Zelda Spellman denies Lilith sanctuary. This changes many things, but not all things. Lilith proposes that the only way that the three of them will survive the wrath of both the Dark Lord and the Pagans is to perform an incredibly intimate ritual. Mary Wardwell stumbles upon this ritual, with gun in hand.In other words, a fix-it fic of Part Three, in which trauma is acknowledged, a threesome happens in an unexpected location, and Mary Wardwell still attempts to murder Zelda, but for slightly different reasons than canon.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Lilith, Zelda Spellman/Mambo Marie, Zelda Spellman/Mambo Marie/Lilith, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 40
Kudos: 132
Collections: Madam Spellman 2020 Challenge





	1. The Mark of Cain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: While it seems a bit silly to credit Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa as the owner of these characters and this universe, considering he himself stole/borrowed/recreated them, let's give it a go. I do not own these characters, nor the universe in which they live. They belong to Archie Comics, which sent Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa himself a cease and desist for his blatant fanfic-turned-play, "Archie's Weird Fantasy," not too long ago. Please do not sue me; I am an unemployed adjunct professor writing fanfiction purely for entertainment purposes. I have very little money, but a whole lot of love for complicated female characters. While I do not wish to be sued, I would very much enjoy being given a position as show-runner for writing some great fanfic. I eagerly await your email.
> 
> Content Warnings: PTSD, mildly dubious consent, and post-partum depression

It was awfully late, and Zelda Spellman could feel the beginnings of a terrible headache pounding behind her eyes, when someone knocked on the Academy’s door loud enough to wake the dead. The noise was like having an ice pick driven directly into her eye sockets. She figured it would be worth answering, if only to stop the heaven-sent racket from incapacitating her for the rest of the night. But when she opened the door, it only took one look at the unexpected shadow darkening the Academy’s doorstep to know that tonight was going to be the longest of her life, and her headache would only get worse with time.

“Lilith? What in heaven are you doing here? What’s wrong?” Zelda didn’t actually have the patience for another catastrophe, so the question was mostly rhetorical, but Lilith didn’t seem to grasp the meaning of her tone.

“You know very well,” said Lilith as she removed her sunglasses. Zelda didn’t know why she bothered with them in the first place—as if sunglasses could hide the fact that the woman in front of her could not possibly be Mary Wardwell. “Lucifer walks free. Don’t you think he’ll take vengeance upon us? The Dark Lord is not known to forgive and forget. I’ve already received a threat. I need asylum.”

While Lilith spoke, the memory of the Dark Lord’s hand falling heavily on Zelda’s shoulder on her wedding eve stole the breath from her lungs. Zelda and the Dark Lord had an outstanding transaction, which he would be sure to collect upon if he so desired. Zelda knew first-hand what the Dark lord would be capable of doing to _both_ of them, which was exactly why she didn’t want to attract his attention by harboring the one woman whose absence he was sure to notice.

“I _am_ sorry for that, but we’re rather more focused on not being annihilated by a group of unhinged pagans,” said Zelda, flicking the ash off the end of her cigarette.

“I could help you,” said Lilith, and oh, the woman must be desperate to be so openly earnest in her presence. But Zelda’s memory was not yet withered with age, and she distinctly remembered Lilith attempting to groom—and then to _murder_ —her niece not too long ago.

“Oh? You? The ultimate wild card?” Zelda’s brief chuckle was without humor. Nothing about this situation was amusing to her. But she couldn’t risk the safety of her already vulnerable family and coven in order to protect a woman she didn’t even trust—a woman who had blatantly ignored their prayers and left the coven for dead.

“But you _must_ give me sanctuary. You worship me.”

Lilith was all but begging, and suddenly, the phantom scent of squeezed lime overwhelmed Zelda’s senses. She had prayed to Lilith in her hours of need. She had begged and pleaded and promised Lilith anything—anything at all—if only she would be freed from Faustus’ Caligari spell. She would have gotten down on her knees and done just about anything, if only Lilith had intervened on her behalf—but she had not. Zelda was a fool to ever have put her faith in such a fickle being. That week in Rome was a blur of pain and degradation she would prefer to eliminate from her mind forever, and what was more, she had thought _Lilith_ was the one witch who could understand her ordeal… but her prayers had gone unanswered.

Moving closer, Zelda refused to break eye contact as she said, “And what good has that done us? No. Find someplace else to hide.”

“You,” said Lilith, blatantly letting her eyes rove over Zelda’s face, lingering on her lips briefly before meeting her gaze again. “You’re a pathetic lot.”

The word “pathetic” stung like a physical blow. Zelda truly did _feel_ pathetic, when she wasn’t putting on a brave face for her coven, holding them all together by the skin of her teeth. She’d felt pathetic ever since Faustus had given her that blessed music box. She was weak, weak, weak. But Lilith had no right to judge her—not when Zelda had specifically gone to her for help, and received nothing but silence.

Lilith’s haughty declaration continued, heedless of Zelda’s inner turmoil, “Hanging your onions to keep the Dark Lord at bay. No. No, I think I won’t stay here. What good are witches against his wrath? No, what I need is a good, Christian woman.”

“Will a good, _Catholic_ woman do?” came a voice from directly behind Zelda, making her jump.

Curiosity mixed with hope on Lilith’s face as she gave the woman a once-over. “And you are?”

“ _Je suis_ Mambo Michelle Marie LaFleur, Priestess of Haiti, daughter of the Tiano people, faithful to Guinee,” said Mambo Marie as she extended her hand to Lilith. “ _Enchant_ _é.”_

“I'm the Mother of Demons, the Dawn of Doom, first wife to Adam, and former Queen of Hell. But you…” Lilith pulled Marie closer by the hand, so that their bodies were practically flush, “may call me ‘Lilith.’”

Mambo Marie nodded in approval, before Zelda seemed to have had quite enough of their introductions and interrupted their moment. “This changes nothing. I demand you leave the Academy at once, Lilith.”

Marie turned to Zelda with disappointment and no small amount of confusion in her eyes. “You would deny sanctuary to this woman?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Mambo Marie. You’re an outsider—a hedge witch. You couldn’t possibly understand what ‘this woman’ has done,” said Zelda, focusing intently on Marie so that she wouldn’t have to feel the full weight of Lilith’s stare.

“I am not a ‘hedge witch,’ as you say,” said Marie, patting Lilith’s hand as she did. “Have you not been listening? I am a Priestess, like you. Prudence invited me.”

Zelda took a long drag off of her cigarette in an attempt to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. Truly, she hadn’t listened. She had been far too distracted by the lilt of Mambo Marie’s French cadence to actually have registered any of her words.

“What will happen to you, Madame La Reine, if you are turned away?” said Marie, though she continued to look at Zelda, not Lilith, as she said it.

“I will be tortured, raped, and murdered,” said Lilith, without an ounce of emotion in her voice. “If the Dark Lord is feeling merciful, he’ll give me a swift death, but ‘mercy’ is a quality of the False God. I expect none from Lucifer.”

Zelda’s mouth went dry at Lilith’s words. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, though she couldn’t quite explain _why_. Lilith’s proposed fate was no great shock. But to hear her say the words aloud, completely resigned… it tugged at something deep inside her.

“Then it is decided. She will stay, if I have to shelter her myself,” said Marie, taking Lilith by the elbow and leading her away, towards the parlor.

For several seconds, Zelda Spellman remained frozen in the foyer, her gaze drifting to where the Dark Lord’s statue, and then the false idol of her ex-husband, had stood. Two statues, two masters… and two women waiting in the parlor, intent on making her forget them both.

* * *

Libation followed libation as Lilith and Mambo Marie exchanged stories of occult practices that would curl even Sabrina’s hair. Zelda sat facing the fire, trying to ignore the flirtatious nature of Marie and Lilith’s speech. It was entirely too distracting, hearing the sensual lilt in their voices, and feeling like an outsider in her own Academy.

“Come, come, I’ll teach you a dance of protection,” said Mambo Marie, putting down her whiskey with slightly too much force in her tipsy state. The alcohol nearly sloshed over the rim of the glass, but Marie paid it no mind, grabbing Lilith’s hand.

“ _Habituellement_ , it is done with a circle of candles and the drums,” said Marie, lifting Lilith out of her seat. “But I can show you without the music, _n’est-ce pas_?”

Zelda watched as Mambo Marie began to dance. Lilith was copying her every move, and pretty soon the demoness was proficient enough for Marie to begin teaching her the chant. As Lilith and Marie performed the ritual, Zelda just watched in silence, drinking until the pain in her head seemed entirely disconnected from her body.

“Zelda Spellman, why do you not join us? The protection spell would be stronger with three,” said Mambo Marie, indicating that Lilith should keep going as Marie attempted to pull Zelda out of her chair, as she had done with Lilith.

“No,” said Zelda, refusing to move.

_“Allons-y!”_

_“No,”_ Zelda insisted, shocked by how much effort it took to resist the strength of Mambo Marie’s hands.

“You will not dance to protect your coven?” said Mambo Marie, the confusion clear on her face as she let go of Zelda’s arms. Lilith paused in her dance, catching on to the tense moment.

Zelda’s body felt strange, almost as if she were floating above it. Suddenly, she was no longer in the Academy’s parlor; she was in Rome.

_“Dance with me, wife.”_

_The saccharine tune from the music box played and played and played as she twirled, twirled, twirled until the twirling was halted by Faustus’ hands, his hands, his hands everywhere and nowhere at once, and the music just kept getting louder and louder, the more she struggled the louder it became, and she was screaming, screaming, screaming for him to stop stop stop stop stop but the sound was only in her head; she was voiceless—no _—_ powerless. She prayed to Lilith. She begged, begged, begged. If not for freedom, then for death. She didn't want to live this way. She wanted it over, no matter the cost. _

_“Unholy Lilith, Mother of Night…”_

_…_

“Zelda?”

…

_Zelda remembered her own mother, right after Hilda was born, when she briefly fell into a deep depression, and then one day—just like that—she was no longer falling into despair, but was rather a poor imitation of a woman she had never been, all smiles and cheer, pouring tea and baking cakes and letting baby Hilda suckle at her breast once again, but only whenever their father reminded her to do it—ordered her to do it—because otherwise she simply stood there and smiled, with no light in her eyes, just emptiness, and whenever Zelda asked if there was something wrong, if she needed help, her mother’s laughter would fill the mortuary, edging on hysterical, saying, “No, silly. Your father knows best.” And Zelda was too young to know it then, but her mother had been under the Caligari spell for the whole first year of Hilda’s life, and her father only broke it when he was sure the postpartum depression would not return, but return it did, this time the depression so severe she could not get out of bed, and her parents' marriage was never the same after that; they never wanted to be in the same room, and Zelda had not understood how her family had gone from a blissfully happy one to broken in so little time, but now she did, she did, she did._

_…_

“Madame Spellman?”

…

_The music would surely drive her mad. She would emerge from the spell a shell of a woman, just like her mother, she was sure. There would be no surviving the humiliation, the degradation, the complete loss of self. They danced and danced and danced—Faustus had always been a good dancer, always knew exactly how and when to move—and her body was contorted and manipulated and forced into the motions, and if she survived this, any of it, she would be sure to loathe the waltz, the foxtrot, the tango, and how it always led to her back pressed against the wall, or her stomach slammed onto the bed, or her body bent over a writing desk, and her mind shattering beneath the weight of the music and the screams and the pain, the heady pain that confirmed she was still alive, the pain that reminded her she had a body to return to, if ever she were able to return—_

…

“ _Tanpri_ , Zelda! _Reviens_!”

There was a soft hand on her cheek. It was warm. There was the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth. There was the scent of incense, but not the kind they used in the Church of Night. Zelda opened her eyes to see two vaguely familiar women with concern rolling off of them in waves.

The woman who smelled like incense was kneeling in front of her chair, while the other stood, hovering behind her. The kneeling woman had a hand on Zelda’s cheek, which made Zelda’s skin beneath it grow hot.

“Zelda, _dieu merci_ , you are returned to us!”

Zelda moved her head to the side, away from Mambo Marie’s hand. She felt as if she had only half-returned to her body. Her senses were still heightened; the sound of the wood crackling in the fireplace was too loud, and Marie’s hand was too soft, and even the faint smell of incense was too much.

“Zelda, are you alright?” said Lilith, still hovering a few steps away. Zelda wondered if it was because she knew, at least in part, what memories had been plaguing her.

“I _prayed_ to you,” said Zelda, her voice hoarse, though she couldn’t imagine why it would be, unless… unless she had been screaming out loud, and not just in her head.

Lilith had the decency to look guilty. “I know.”

Mambo Marie moved her hand from Zelda’s face to her wrist. “ _Calmez-vous_ , _madame_. Your pulse is racing.”

Zelda tore her wrist from Mambo Marie’s grip. “Do _not_ tell me to calm down. You and your dancing—and _Lilith_ —”

Lilith met her eyes, a hint of a challenge, rather than guilt, passing between them.

“Why should I give you sanctuary when you heard my prayers and did _nothing_?” said Zelda, resisting as Mambo Marie captured her wrist once more to retake her pulse.

“What would you have had me do?” asked Lilith, lifting her chin. “You chose to marry him, of your own free will. The bond of marriage is more sacred than the oldest magic. I was the first wife to Adam. I will always be married to him in the eyes of the False God. I found my way. Witches have been put under obedience spells for centuries. I could not possibly intervene every time a man had his way with a woman.”

Quick as a flash, Mambo Marie was off of her knees and rounding on Lilith. “ _Arrête_!”

“No,” said Zelda, standing as well. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

Lilith tilted her head to the side. “Women have been raped and abused since Creation. It is not up to me who suffers and who doesn’t; I am not divine.”

“But you—” Zelda attempted to step forward, into Lilith’s space, but Mambo Marie held her back with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I have been raped and tortured all of my life. There was _no one_ for me to pray to,” said Lilith, her eyes shining in the light from the fire as the reflection of the flames danced on her irises. “Now, I am sorry for what happened to you. But it would be a mistake for you to think that I _let_ it happen. I preserved your sanity, did I not? Unlike your dear mother.”

Upon those words, Mambo Marie let Zelda go, no longer interested in keeping the two women apart. Zelda launched herself at Lilith.

“My sanity? That was your ‘gift?’” Zelda growled, standing so close their noses were almost touching. “Then what do you call what just happened?”

“You had a… how do you say? _Un_ … ‘flashback,’” said Mambo Marie, reaching to take Zelda’s hand. “That is normal, _ma ch_ _érie_.”

“Then why are you looking at me like I’m broken?” asked Zelda, turning on Marie with a snarl.

“You are not broken, Zelda Spellman,” said Marie, pulling Zelda’s hand up and holding it against her chest with both hands. “I fought in a war, once. I was a pilot in the war to end all wars. It has been some time since then _, n’est-ce pas?_ But I still wake up from _les mauvais r_ _êves_ , thinking I am still in battle.”

As Marie held Zelda’s hand against her chest, the fight seemed to go right out of Zelda’s body. “You do?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Marie said, squeezing her hand.

Suddenly, the moment was broken by a dead mouse appearing out of thin air above their heads. Marie and Zelda jumped apart, so as not to be hit in the head by the falling corpse.

Lilith stepped forward immediately, casting spells to discover the nature of the magic. Once she was finished, she looked to Zelda with a grim face. “It is your message from the Dark Lord.”

Zelda’s stomach flipped as she stared at the body of the mouse. In her mind’s eye, she could see herself grinding Leviathan into minced meat.

“What is the meaning?” said Marie, bending down to examine the mouse.

“It means that the Dark Lord—and his vessel, Blackwood—are near,” said Lilith. “Quick, you must help me.”

With that, Lilith flew out of the room, leaving no choice but for Marie and Zelda to follow.

* * *

They followed Lilith all the way to the Spellman cemetery, aware that she was clearly searching for something. If she had simply _asked_ Zelda, she could have told her where to go, but that would have, of course, been too simple. Eventually, they came to stand at the foot of the Cain Pit.

“What is the meaning of this, Lilith?” said Zelda, extending a hand to keep Mambo Marie from stepping onto the soil.

“We have to perform a ritual that will ensure we will all survive the Dark Lord’s wrath,” said Lilith, kneeling on the soil that was soaked in Abel’s blood.

“ _What_ ritual?” said Zelda, already filled with dread at the thought of one of them possibly having to be murdered and buried in the Cain Pit when they needed the power of every single witch they could find to stop both the Pagans and the Dark Lord from slaughtering them all.

“I’m afraid it’s one that you’re both… intimately familiar with,” said Lilith, looking truly sorry to be asking this of them, though Marie hadn’t quite caught on yet.

“What ritual would require _le cimetière_?” asked Marie, looking at Lilith with a furrowed brow.

“This pit is from Cain’s garden and soaked in Abel’s blood, is it not?” said Lilith as she dug her fingers deeper into the soil.

“Yes,” Zelda confirmed, though there was hardly any breath left in her lungs.

“We must perform an… _act_ upon the grave. It is your choice, of course, but it should be done sooner rather than later, if we all want to survive this night. Mambo Marie might be safe without the ritual, as the Pagans, Blackwood, and the Dark Lord have no reason to take any specific interest in her… but you, Zelda,” Lilith said with a note of apology, “you must understand, this is the only way. I couldn’t protect you in Rome, but I can protect you now… if you’ll allow me.”

Zelda could hear a roaring in her ears. She felt as if someone were trying to separate her soul from her body once again. “Are you saying… I need to have sex with you _on a grave_ to save our lives?”

“Not just on any grave,” said Lilith, drawing a perfect circle in the soil. “This soil contains Abel’s spilt blood. The blood of Abel will mark us with Cain’s curse, but only if we perform the ritual correctly.”

“Madame,” said Marie, placing her hand on Zelda’s shoulder. “You do not have to do this. I will perform it with her, if you would rather go back inside.”

Zelda couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “But… if I don’t, I’ll be dead by morning, won’t I?”

“Yes,” confirmed Lilith as she continued to draw the sigil in the dirt. “Though I will attempt to protect you with my life, and I’m sure Mambo Marie will do the same… it is likely we will not succeed in keeping you from harm. The Dark Lord will stop at nothing to get his vengeance, and you will be his only viable target, in that eventuality.”

No one spoke as Lilith finished the sigil. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as no one dared to speak, as if speaking would break the spell. Finally, Lilith was finished, and looked up at them expectantly. “What is your decision?”

A violent shiver went down Zelda’s back as she said, “I’ll do it.”

“ _Moi aussi_ ,” agreed Marie, lacing the fingers of her right hand with Zelda’s left.

“Then, please, step onto the grave, and we will begin.”

* * *

Mary Wardwell was at the end of her rope. She had just received a visit from a kindly priest, who had searched her house for the Devil, and when he found it empty, he had informed her that her fiancé, Adam, was dead as a result of witchcraft in Greendale. He had urged her to take matters into her own hands, saying it was God’s will that the surviving witches be eliminated once and for all. She needed to put her house in order. Her father had always said that the witches had never left Greendale, and he was right. So, she took her father’s handgun from his safe—the combination was her birthday, because her father had been the sentimental sort—and set out to avenge Adam’s death, with a final blessing from the priest.

* * *

Zelda had wanted _Lilith_ to be the first one to receive the Mark of Cain, so that Zelda might warm up to the idea of having sex out in the open, with two women she hardly knew, on top of a grave where she had routinely buried her sister. It wasn’t that she was especially prudish or ashamed of her body, but having just suffered a flashback to her honeymoon, she couldn’t be certain that she wouldn’t disappear from reality again. Lilith insisted that Zelda be given the mark first, however, in order to ensure that the woman was safe as soon as possible, and there was no persuading the former Queen of Hell otherwise.

Zelda laid down on the top of the Cain Pit, the dirt rough against her back. Her head rested in Mambo Marie’s lap as Lilith removed her blouse and skirt with nimble fingers. As she journeyed down Zelda’s body, Lilith whispered spells into her skin while Mambo Marie ran her fingers soothingly through her hair. Zelda could almost pretend she was a century younger, participating in a fabulous, if unconventional, orgy, but something about the setting and circumstances was preventing her from visualizing her well-spent youth.

“May I?” said Lilith, her eyes warm and her fingers soft as she ran them along the edge of Zelda’s satin undergarments.

“Yes,” said Zelda, wishing these women weren’t the kind to be so careful—so… _reverent_. She had never liked slow and sensual sex—at least, not when rough and fast were on the table, which usually was the case in a coven as traditional as the Church of Night. She rarely came when things were gentle, no matter how talented the lover. Faustus had known that about her, which had been an immense relief, for a time. She never had to explain her preferences to him; he just _knew_.

Zelda tried to push Faustus out of her mind as Lilith spread her legs. Mambo Marie had started to hum, a sweet tune that was most likely meant to calm her, but had the opposite effect.

“Please—stop,” said Zelda, and immediately, Lilith removed her hands, her face the picture of regret.

“We… we can stop. I’m sorry,” Lilith said in a rush, retrieving Zelda’s underwear from where she had placed it behind her.

“No—no,” said Zelda, removing her head from Mambo Marie’s lap in order sit up. “I want to do it—I do—I just—”

She turned her head towards Mambo Marie, stretching her neck at an uncomfortable angle, “Please, just… stop _humming_.”

“ _Désolé, ma ch_ _érie_ ,” Marie cooed as she gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and then guided Zelda back down onto her lap. “I will not do it again.”

Lilith settled back between Zelda’s legs. “I’d rather take my time, but I think time might be a luxury we can’t afford at this point.”

“I don’t want you to take your time. Just _do_ it,” said Zelda, turning her face into Mambo Marie’s thigh as Lilith complied.

Lilith’s mouth was hot and wet and just right, except that everything about the situation seemed wrong. It was life and death, but the real problem was that Zelda hardly felt alive to begin with. No matter how skilled Lilith’s tongue, Zelda couldn’t quite let herself enjoy the deposed Queen’s ministrations. The more Lilith tried, the more Zelda’s body seemed to clam up, unwilling to release its tension. Her orgasm was key to the ritual, according to Lilith, as the protection spell had to do with the mixing of… fluids… with the blood-soaked dirt. Zelda had asked Lilith not to explain any further, as it was unlikely to help Zelda’s comfort with the whole situation.

“Let me,” said Mambo Marie, after a time, placing a hand on Lilith’s head where it worked between Zelda’s legs. “If I have your permission, _ch_ _érie_?”

Zelda wanted to disappear. It was one thing to perform a ritual to save one’s life and the lives of others, but it was another thing entirely to be unable to… _perform_.

“Do whatever you see fit,” said Zelda, placing a hand over her eyes as the witches switched places.

Mambo Marie was not gentle. She seemed to sense what Zelda needed, and pinned her thighs wide open against the dirt. Her long finger nails dragged across her skin, making Zelda’s breath hitch. Her mouth lavished attention on one thigh, and then the other, ending with the scrape of teeth over sensitive flesh. By the time Marie reached her center, Zelda was practically _dripping_ into the dirt. Mambo Marie had her writhing in no time at all, with fingers and tongue working in concert toward a common goal.

Lilith, sensing what was needed, grabbed Zelda’s flailing arms and pinned them above her head. When Marie pressed one of her fingers down _hard_ onto her clit, letting the long nail of her forefinger scrape down over the hood, Zelda finally came undone, dripping all over Marie’s face and fingers.

* * *

Mary Wardwell arrived at the mortuary with her father’s gun heavy in her pocket. She was determined to set things right, but when she let her gaze drift into the Spellman Mortuary graveyard, her eyes fell upon a picture straight out of the Book of Genesis—the Judgment upon Sodom and Gomorrah. There were three women—women!—engaging in a sex act that would send them straight to hell.

Mary took her gun out of her pocket, remembering Romans 1:26. Her hand shaking as she clicked the safety off, she spoke the verse out loud, into the night: “For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature.”

She had never shot someone before. As Mary trained her gun on the one woman she could see clearly—Zelda Spellman—she was distracted by the woman’s face, which was contorted in pleasure. Mary felt an unnatural stirring inside her—a longing to be the woman between Zelda Spellman’s legs, or even, perhaps, Zelda Spellman herself. She lowered her gun as a sudden wave of desire and longing utterly overwhelmed her. Mary had never understood why she hadn’t ever truly enjoyed the idea of sex with a man—any man—until this very moment.

But no. This was the work of the witches in the cemetery, surely? They had cast a spell on her! She had been bewitched, and _that_ was why she suddenly felt the urge to join the three women in their unnatural sexual performance.

Raising her gun with new purpose, she crept closer. Sabrina’s aunt was writhing with…pleasure. Mary couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away, though she knew it would be the Christian thing to do.

As she lined up a perfect shot, Zelda…finished, and Mary saw her opportunity. Steeling herself, she pulled the trigger, aiming for Zelda’s bare torso.

* * *

As Marie removed her head from between Zelda’s thighs, looking incredibly satisfied with herself, a shot rang out. The sound didn’t immediately register in Zelda’s mind. She was still in a post-orgasmic stupor when a pain unlike any other tore through her abdomen.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Mambo Marie immediately grabbed an article of Zelda’s discarded clothing and pressed it into the wound, while Lilith leapt to her feet and cast a spell to freeze Mary Wardwell where she stood.

“Zelda? Zelda, _ma ch_ _érie_? Stay with me,” said Marie, placing the hand that wasn’t applying pressure to her bullet wound to Zelda’s cheek.

“It doesn’t hurt,” said Zelda, her eyes wide.

“I know _, ch_ _érie_ , I know. It’s the adrenaline. Just stay with me, _tanpri_ ,” said Marie, her voice going very high in her panic.

“You don’t understand,” said Zelda, attempting sit up as Marie made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, trying to keep the woman still. “I don’t feel _anything_. The bullet didn’t hurt.”

Slowly, Marie allowed Zelda to sit back up. As they watched in awe, Zelda’s stomach seemed to reject the bullet, and knit the skin back together as it pushed the silver out.

“It worked,” said Mambo Marie in disbelief, as Lilith returned to the grave, having lulled Mary Wardwell’s frozen body to sleep and transferred her to a vacant bedroom in the mortuary.

“Of course, it worked,” said Lilith, though her tone was tender, not chiding. “Well done. Now, would you like to be next?”


	2. Shaking Upon the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda Spellman struggles to understand what it means to bear the Mark of Cain. Mary Wardwell explains why she shot Zelda. Lilith and Marie wish to help Zelda find her old self again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to paradox-n-bedrock, who requested an update to this fic as a Black Lives Matter donation commission. Thanks for being so patient!
> 
> Content Warning: Discussion of self-harm

“I’m going to freshen up. I trust you both can manage without me for a while?” said Zelda, though the question was entirely rhetorical, as she was already halfway up the stairs, leaving Marie and Lilith behind in the foyer.

There was no doubt they were whispering about her. She could feel their eyes burning holes in her hastily-donned clothing.

She needed a bath. No, she needed a drink and a cigarette, _then_ a bath. And then, perhaps, she would confront the deranged Wardwell woman who slept peacefully down the hall, in the spare room Hilda had taken up after insisting she have a room of her own.

The spinster schoolmarm didn’t deserve such kindness, but even Zelda would admit to wanting answers more than swift vengeance.

Zelda was not the forgiving sort. Ever since she was a little witch-ling, she was the kind of girl who reveled in revenge rather than forgiveness. The Fourth Satanic Commandment was branded onto her soul: “Show kindness to those who deserve it, but do not waste love on ingrates.”

Mary Wardwell was one such ingrate. The bitch shot her—never mind that the Mark of Cain had already woven its protection around her body. Why on earth would the woman try to kill her? They hardly knew each other, and Zelda had certainly never done a thing to Sabrina’s mortal teacher that would warrant a bullet to the stomach.

Locking herself in her bathroom, Zelda let loose a harsh and shaky breath before standing in front of the mirror. As Zelda lifted her blouse, she took note that there was a mark on her stomach where the bullet had been rejected. It looked a bit like a burn that’d had some time to heal. She hadn’t felt any pain, but the scar was proof that it had happened. She would need to put a glamour over it. Zelda wouldn’t abide any future lovers commenting on the wound.

That thought gave Zelda pause. Running a shaking hand through her matted hair as she dropped her blouse back down to cover her stomach, Zelda turned on the sink so that anyone listening at the door wouldn’t hear her labored breath.

Future lovers. What poppycock.

Why think of future lovers at all? Zelda wouldn’t be taking a lover any time soon. What she’d done with Lilith and Mambo Marie wasn’t…. wasn’t… sex. It was survival. She didn’t want to think about how vulnerable she’d been, how cowardly, how tightly strung. Where was the Zelda of her girlhood, who had sex at the drop of a hat with anyone ready, willing, and able? Where was the teenager who’d thrown herself into a marvelous orgy the night of her Dark Baptism? Who’d been deliciously divested of her virginity by no less than six witches and warlocks?

Was that girl lost to her forever?

Her body felt wrong, like the top layer of her skin was slowly being peeled away, piece by piece. Her hands trembled where they gripped the sink. The dirt all down her back made her feel unclean. The familiar ache in her thighs, where Mambo Marie had stretched and held them apart, felt disconnected from her, as if it was not her thighs at all that twinged with each slight shift in weight.

The woman in the mirror was not Zelda Spellman.

No, the woman looking back at her was Zelda Blackwood, unmade. Zelda Blackwood, unbalanced. Zelda Blackwood, undone.

Zelda pressed her fingers into the fabric covering her not-wound, almost expecting her hand to disappear into her stomach like the bullet had before it came back out. Did she even _have_ a body, if it could no longer be harmed?

Zelda would test that theory later, with her trusted cat o’ nine tails.

How would she know she was alive, now that the Mark of Cain had made her body impenetrable? Would she ever feel like herself again? Would her body never be hers to indulge and harm in equal measure?

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Zelda splashed water on her face, hoping the cold bite of the liquid would decrease the flush in her cheeks.

“Zelda?” Lilith’s voice was softer than Zelda had ever known it to be.

She hated it.

“Can I not have a few moments of peace?”

Zelda turned off the tap, reaching with her right hand for a towel that had been her grandmother’s _. L.S._ was embroidered in looping script. What would Locasta Spellman think of her, she wondered, now that she’d done what her mother and grandmother had always wanted her to do: marry a High Priest?

“Zelda, may I come in?”

“No, you may not,” Zelda bit out, throwing her grandmother’s hand towel down with more force than she meant to.

But Lilith ignored her. The lock clicked open with a simple spell, and then Lilith was entering the bathroom, looking as regal and dangerous as ever, even with her hair tousled and her clothes slightly askew.

“You have an entire group of hedge witches wondering where their leader has gone,” said Lilith, placing a hand on her hip.

Zelda snarled, “I’m not the leader they’re looking for—that would be you.”

“Me?” said Lilith, her brown eyes widening slightly.

“Yes, you,” hissed Zelda, invading Lilith’s space. “You’ve inserted yourself into my coven from the moment Sabrina questioned her baptism. You’ve been like a puppet master, forcing us all to dance to your tune while you hid behind a curtain. Well, I’m sick of being made to dance.”

“What are you saying?” said Lilith, her eyes flickering to Zelda’s lips without intending to before returning to her eyes. 

“My whole life, all I’ve ever wanted was power. My brother wasn’t the only prodigy in the family, you know?” said Zelda, crossing her arms. “But when he died, it became clear that I would never have glory in my own right. For sixteen years, I contented myself with raising Sabrina. I let my own ambition be pushed aside in order to be a proper mother to her. But now I see that was a mistake.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow. “You regret raising Lucifer’s daughter?”

“She’s _my_ daughter—she’ll always be mine—and no,” insisted Zelda, throwing up her hands in frustration. “I regret letting myself hope that one day I would have the power and position that was owed to me. It was a foolish dream. Now that I have it, I don’t want it. Everything has a price. I thought I’d learned that lesson, but it’s clearer now than ever before that I didn’t.”

Zelda turned to look at their reflection in the mirror.

“The price was too high. It wasn’t worth it,” Zelda said, her voice low enough to be a whisper.

Lilith turned to take in their reflection as well. Zelda was slightly taller, with wider hips and paler skin.

She was beautiful.

“The price is always too high for women. That’s why we should be in charge of everything; we understand true sacrifice.”

Zelda scoffed, rubbing her temples. Her headache was back with a vengeance.

“I’ve been lily-livered. Hysterical. Cowardly. I’ve done nothing to be worthy of my position except marry a man who…” Zelda stopped, shaking her head. “All I’ve managed to do with my life is run a halfway house for wayward witches. My coven is made up of a handful of children who are entirely unprepared for the battle ahead. What does that say about me as a leader?”

Lilith reached out to place a hand on Zelda’s shoulder as their eyes connected in the mirror. “I wouldn’t have given you the Mark of Cain if I didn’t think you were worthy.”

Zelda shuddered, feeling the phantom press of Marie’s mouth against her inner thigh. “I think it was Mambo Marie who gave it to me, not you.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, allowing the tension of the previous conversation to dissipate with a quirk of her lips. “Only because I didn’t know what you liked.” Lilith grinned mischievously. “Now, I do.”

Zelda’s face flushed with heat once more. “Yes, well. I think it’s high time we spoke to our mortal guest, isn’t it?”

Zelda pushed passed Lilith, ignoring the woman’s indignant huff as their shoulders collided.

* * *

“Wake her up,” ordered Zelda, after they’d been staring at Mary’s prone form for about two minutes, debating what should be done.

“I like it when you give me orders,” Lilith purred, enjoying the way even the tips of Zelda’s ears seemed to go red.

Mary awoke with a jolt. For a moment or two, she just laid there, blinking at the ceiling.

“Did you have a nice nap?” said Zelda, her sarcasm a thick and dangerous thing.

Mary jumped, instinctively pulling the covers up to hide her body, despite still being in her day clothes and yellow jacket. “Witches!”

“Yes,” Lilith said, inclining her head. “We are.”

Mary scrambled out of bed, searching her pockets for her gun.

“Looking for this?” said Lilith, pulling the pistol out of thin air. “You won’t be getting it back, I’m afraid.”

Undeterred, Mary pulled a wooden cross from the inside pocket of her jacket. Holding it up like a weapon, she cried, “The power of Christ compels you!”

Lilith and Zelda exchanged an amused look.

“We’re not possessed,” said Zelda, moving closer. Mary took three rapid steps back, still brandishing the cross. “Your False God has no power in this house.”

Slowly, Mary lowered the cross. “What are you going to do to me?”

“First,” said Zelda, slinking closer, “I want to know what possessed you to come to my home and shoot me in cold blood?”

Mary’s body shook like a leaf in the wind. “A Priest told me to do it.”

“Priest?” Zelda repeated, tilting her head. “Isn’t killing people against your religion?”

“Not when you’re killing a witch,” said Mary, though there wasn’t much conviction behind her words.

“Did this Priest have a name?” said Lilith suspiciously.

“He told me his name was Father Blackwood,” said Mary, tucking her cross back into her jacket.

The floor shifted beneath Zelda’s feet—at least, that’s what it felt like. Did Faustus really try to have her killed? Was it not enough that he’d… he’d…

But then she remembered that Faustus was merely a vessel for the Dark Lord. Was it the _Dark Lord_ who wanted her dead? That was far more worrying.

Lilith caught on to her train of thought immediately. “What exactly did this ‘priest’ say?”

Mary shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking more and more uncertain by the moment. “I’d never seen him before, but he knew things about my fiancé. The priest said that Adam was killed by witches. By the Spellmans.”

“The man lied,” said Lilith, her mouth going dry as she remembered seeing Adam’s severed head on her dinner table.

“You mean… Adam’s alive?” said Mary, her eyes wide with hope.

“No,” said Lilith, shaking her head. “He _is_ dead, but it wasn’t the Spellmans who killed him. It was Satan himself.”

Mary’s face drained of all color. “I need to sit down.”

Zelda advanced on Mary as the school teacher sat on the edge of the bed.

“Did the Priest specifically tell you to shoot me?” said Zelda, desperate to know why she was singled out.

Mary’s pale skin had a sickly green tinge to it. “No… not exactly.”

“Are you saying,” said Lilith, coming to stand beside Zelda, “that you trusted a man you’d never seen before just because he wore a clergyman’s collar? That you _shot_ a woman with no proof that she was even involved in his death—?”

Zelda interrupted, “If it wasn’t me you saw first, but my sister, Hilda, or Sabrina… would you have shot _them_?”

Mary started to cry. “I don’t know! I didn’t know what I was doing. I just wanted it all to be over—the nightmares, the missing time…. Just the other day, a woman I’d never met before gave me a fruit basket for saving her daughter, a-and I have no memory of doing it!”

“That was my doing,” admitted Lilith as she gestured to her own body. “As you can see, I’ve taken a liking to your appearance.”

Mary’s eyes were wet with tears as they widened once more. It was as if she’d only just noticed their resemblance—Lilith carried herself so much differently, it had slipped passed her notice, and she was so ridden with guilt, fear, and adrenaline, she hadn’t been looking too closely at either woman.

“You… you’re _impersonating_ me?!” Mary Wardwell said breathlessly, her hands clutching at her chest.

“Not really. Not anymore,” said Lilith, trying to make light of it. “I did impersonate you during your missing time, however, and I’m sorry for that. Truly.”

Just as Mary was about to respond to this earth-shattering information, Marie entered the room like a warm summer breeze, not bothering to knock.

“You should have told me that _la meurtrière_ was awake, _mes amies_!” said Mambo Marie, her long, flowing dress billowing around her. It looked no less striking for having dirt all over it.

“Who are you?” said Mary, momentarily distracted by the newcomer. She took out her cross once more, holding it up to stop Marie from coming any closer. “Stay back!”

“I am Catholic, _madame_ ,” said Marie, lifting an eyebrow. “Your cross will do me no harm, eh?”

“You’re… you’re a Catholic?” said Mary, her eyes flitting between the three women fast enough to pop out of their sockets. “But how do you consort with witches, then?!”

Marie leaned in, plucking the cross from Mary’s hand as if to prove it wouldn’t hurt her. “I do not fear the rituals of others, _et certainement_ , I would not shoot a woman for worshipping another god.”

“I… I…” Mary’s mouth opened and closed as Marie placed the cross down on the night stand.

“I would like to speak with this woman alone, _tanpri_ ,” said Marie, indicating that Zelda and Lilith should leave. “We can talk one Christian to another, _n’est-ce pas_?”

Lilith looked at Zelda, who didn’t seem keen on the idea. “I think Zelda should decide what happens.”

For a long time, no one moved or spoke. Zelda stared at Mary Wardwell, taking in the fear and pain that was radiating off of her.

Zelda tried to imagine what it would be like to lose months of one’s memory. Tried to put herself in the teacher’s shoes. She knew what it was like to be plagued by nightmares. To be in a body that no longer felt like her own. To have her beliefs twisted and manipulated by men until her faith was unrecognizable from what it used to be.

“Let them talk. I need a drink.”

* * *

Zelda and Lilith sat in front of the fire, drinking in silence. Zelda longed to change her clothes, but at that point in the evening, she might as well change into her nightgown, and she wasn’t about to be seen in her white shift and kimono. Lilith may have seen every part of her already, but somehow her clothes felt like armor at the moment, and removing them for a second time would feel like removing a piece of her dignity.

“Your thoughts are terribly loud,” mused Lilith, who was gazing into the fire. “If you’d like me to excuse myself, I will.”

“No,” said Zelda, without thinking. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the pounding of her heart beneath her breast.

“No?” said Lilith, tearing her gaze away from the fire to observe Zelda with curiosity.

Zelda opened her eyes with a deep sigh. “I don’t want to be alone… but I also don’t want to be… seen. It’s hard to explain.”

“I understand,” Lilith said, nodding. “You’re afraid the moment you’re alone you’ll be tempted to test the boundaries of the Mark of Cain.”

Zelda drained her glass to buy time before she had to answer. The alcohol burned all the way down her throat. “How did you know?”

“Because I’ve seen the scars on your back.”

Zelda’s tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth. “Those are… private.”

Lilith nodded. “I only bring it up to prove my point. You shouldn’t be alone tonight. The Mark of Cain won’t prevent you from hurting yourself; it will only keep you from being killed.”

Zelda stood up to pour herself another glass, but decided against it. Moving towards the fire, Zelda held out her hands, wishing the flames would lick her fingers. She heard Lilith get up, and could feel the woman’s heat at her back for some time before she spoke.

“You don’t need to hurt yourself to feel something. If you’d like, I could help you feel something… good. Something that wouldn’t feel like survival, but pure pleasure.”

Zelda looked up, blinking back tears. She knew what Lilith was offering, but didn’t know whether she should agree to it or not.

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I can sense you’re attracted to me, but you wonder if I can be trusted. I’d very much like to prove to you that I can be.”

Zelda turned to face Lilith, searching her expression for some flicker of dishonesty or scheming, but found none.

“I know I shouldn’t trust you… but I do,” Zelda admitted, rolling her shoulders and neck to relieve some of the tension there.

Lilith reached out, cupping the back of Zelda’s neck in her hand to draw her gently closer, so that their noses nearly touched. Just as Lilith was about to lean in those last few centimeters to meet Zelda’s lips, a familiar voice interrupted them.

“Now that is a pretty sight,” Marie mused, swaying her hips as she moved towards them. “I am sorry to interrupt. I only wanted to say, I have talked some sense into Madame Wardwell. I do not believe she will bother you again.”

Zelda breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. With the threat of the Dark Lord and a pack of unhinged Pagans ready to attack, I have quite enough on my plate without a witch hunter on my heels.”

Marie reached out to take Zelda’s hand. “I will not stay here tonight if I am not welcome. If you would like me to leave, I will go to the Desecrated Church for the night and leave you to your… sleep.”

Zelda looked from Marie to Lilith and then back to Marie. It was a shame their first time had been under such strained circumstances. There was something stirring in her belly, for the very first time since her honeymoon. She desired these women. Could it be that a flicker of her younger self was returning? Could she discover that young girl again, in these women’s arms?

“Please stay—both of you.”

There was only one way to find out.


End file.
